Mother's Day
by IronAmerica
Summary: Three different Mother's Days, with three views on the subject.
1. The Sweetest Thing

Hey, it's a new story for Mother's Day! First up are the Flemings and a fire.

Un-beta'ed, so quibble away.

- o – o -

Mother's Day

Chapter one: The Sweetest Thing

Peter Fleming employed several world-class chefs that made Emeril and many other celebrity chefs look like rank amateurs. There was a reason for this: The billionaire could burn water simply by looking at it. (It was a good thing he was wealthy enough to afford an in-house chef, or he'd have been stuck eating take-out for the rest of his life.) He had passed the ability onto his daughter, three-year-old Jamie Elaine Fleming.

That little fact wasn't going to stop them today, though. After all, it was Mother's Day and there was the time-honored tradition of giving the lady of the house breakfast-in-bed. Knowing this fact, the kitchen staff had quietly removed the batteries from the smoke detector the night before and left pre-made goods in the massive fridge with incredibly specific instructions taped to the lids of the containers. There was _no_ way their employer would be able to destroy breakfast with that many simple instructions.

And despite these precautions, Peter still managed to botch something. His daughter, sitting at the kitchen table and working diligently on a hand-made card for her mother, noticed the burning smell first.

"Daddy, is that supposed to happen?"

Peter looked at the oven and resisted the urge to drown himself in the pot of coffee he'd just made. (Coffee was the only thing he was able to make without setting something on fire or ruining it beyond recognition.) Black smoke was wafting out of it, for no reason he could understand. He'd _followed_ the cook's instructions to the letter, for Christ's sake!

"No princess," Fleming sighed as he got the fire extinguisher off the hook by the door, "it's not." The fire was put out in due order, and the charred and blackened remains of what should have been a simple tray of cinnamon rolls was deposited in the trash. Again. The billionaire picked his daughter up and kissed the top of her head. "Sweetie, do you think your mother would object if we took her out for breakfast instead?"

Solemnly, Jamie shook her head. "Uh-uh. Can we go to I-Hop?" she asked, staring up at her father.

Peter smiled and hugged his daughter. Despite the fact that he was quickly becoming one of the wealthiest men on the planet, he and his wife still enjoyed going to restaurants that didn't cost several hundred by the end of a meal for two.

"Let's go get your mother," he said quietly, grabbing the bouquet of flowers he'd paid for the day before. His wife was, unsurprisingly, waiting in the foyer of their home, already dressed and ready to go.

It never failed that, every year, Peter would manage to burn breakfast on Mother's Day, no matter how good the instructions he was following were.

And, for two more years, everything was exactly as it should have been.

- o – o -

So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Think Peter should learn how to avoid burning everything he tries to cook? Drop a line and let me know!


	2. Lay In My Bed

Hey, it's a new chapter! Less fire, more annoyance.

Un-beta'ed, so quibble away.

- o – o -

Chapter two: Lay In My Bed

There were days when Vince Faraday wished his wife was a heavier sleeper. Or, for that matter, would just _stay_ asleep if he got up. He had yet to be able to leave bed in the middle of the night without making her wake up. It had only gotten worse in the five years since Trip had been born. Her annoying habit of waking up without the slightest provocation only made breakfast-in-bed on Mother's Day more trouble than it was worth.

This year was going to be different though, Vince thought. He'd been looking forward to this one for one specific reason: He'd been working the night shift the day before. He could creep into the house and start breakfast prep. The police officer was also sure that his brilliant plan of removing the batteries from the smoke detector and opening the windows in the kitchen first would help with his plot to keep Dana asleep until he brought her breakfast.

To that end, he'd enlisted his five-year-old's help. If Trip heard his mother moving around, he was supposed to go and make sure she went right back to bed. Fake tears were to be encouraged in this situation. (Vince didn't even feel remotely guilty about bribing his toddler with a baseball glove to achieve his ends. It was for a good cause, _really_!)

Vince was halfway done with the _perfect_ omelet when he heard the floorboards creaking outside the kitchen. He sighed and rested his forehead against one of the cabinets. It had been too much to ask, hadn't it?

Trip walked into the room, holding onto his mother's hand. He smiled at his father. The gap-toothed smile only made him look adorable, and was going to go a long way to keeping him out of trouble. Vince glowered at his traitorous son for a few seconds, before smiling at Dana.

"Hey babe," Vince said, drawing Dana into a hug. He pulled her into a slow-dance around the kitchen and kissed her. "I thought you were going to sleep in today?"

Dana smiled at him and picked a strawberry off the tray Vince had been preparing for her. She bit into it with a look of relish on her face. "And ruin a five-year streak?" the mother asked. She kissed him again. "The omelet's burning."

Vince sighed and pulled the pan off the burner. Some things never changed.

"Happy Mother's Day, Dana," Vince said. He kissed her again, and grinned as Trip ran out of the room. Yep. Even his son's opinion on kissing and cooties didn't change.

"Thanks, Vince."

His losing battle with Dana was never going to end, no matter what happened, and yet, Vince couldn't bring himself to care.

- o – o -

So, what did you guys think? Good? Bad? Does anyone besides my family and Vince have to deal with this? Drop a line and let me know!


	3. Imaginary

So, it's the last chapter. Boy is Scales a cynical little kid...

Un-beta'ed, so quibble away.

- o – o -

Chapter three: Imaginary

Seven-year-old Scales knew, from an early age, that there was more wrong with him than just looking like a freak. For one thing, there was McClintock and his endless string of girlfriends (most of whom were drunk half the time, so they didn't count). For another, there was the fact that, unlike the rest of the circus brats, he didn't have a mother. (Or a father, but considering what day it was, he hardly thought that mattered. The todger didn't count as a parent.)

Today was Mother's Day. He didn't have one. His aunties didn't count—to be brutally honest, they kinda scared him, and they only liked him when he was hurt really bad. All of the other circus kids—the ones who had families that loved them—were celebrating it by doing something nice for their mothers. The meanest kids enjoyed teasing him about it, but Scales had learned to ignore them ages ago.

Besides, who needed a mother anyways? It wasn't like they were going to do anything important… (His mummy was probably the reason he was stuck in the stupid circus, being beaten by Mr. McClintock instead of making stupid cards that she'd like… Maybe.)

If he did have a mother who loved him, Scales wanted her to be tall. And blond—the elephant man's wife was blond, and her hair was curly and bouncy. She was nice (and slipped him cookies that kinda made his tummy hurt if he ate them too fast). Scales decided that if his mummy still wanted him and was looking for him, she'd look exactly like Mrs. R.

The seven-year-old curled up on the hard-packed dirt underneath McClintock's trailer and watched an ant crawl by, carrying part of a leaf. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten. If he had a mummy, he'd have made her breakfast—eggs and toast, and hot chocolate. (That was what his aunties liked, when he got to stay with them. He usually only got toast, though.)

Scales sighed and rolled onto his back. Mother's Day was stupid and overrated. And who needed it anyways?

_He_ didn't.

…but if he did, he'd have made a card for Mrs. R.

- o – o -

So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Want poor kid!Scales to finally catch a break for once? Drop a line and let me know!


End file.
